


Apples in the Summer

by astuarian



Series: You Say You're Sorry When You're Not [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family man Cullen, Gen, Happily Ever After
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astuarian/pseuds/astuarian
Summary: And they lived happily ever after... Domestic bliss and curly haired kiddos.Post-"You Say You're Sorry When You're Not" drabbles
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: You Say You're Sorry When You're Not [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1086252
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	1. Moony Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Treading familiar ground here... Decided to wipe the slate clean and finally settle on the happily ever after for these two. 
> 
> Many thanks to kenobithing, whose comment rendered me speechless and nudged me to dust off my keyboard. <3

“A great many people _used_ to be afraid of me, you know,” Cullen mumbled into his tea. 

His son, unconvinced, immediately looked up at his mother. His wife chirped over her shoulder, “Yes dear, we were all _very_ afraid of you,” without taking her eyes off the sock she was darning. His daughter, however, stared at him openly, clearly stricken by the idea that her father could ever be considered fearsome. 

“Was that back in the old times, Papa?” Yara asked. 

Cullen sighed. ‘ _The old times’_ to her was anything from the reign of King Calenhad to yesterday’s breakfast. 

“Yes, my sweet, back in the old times…” he replied. 

“Back when you used to make moony eyes at Mamae?” she said. 

“Back when I… What?” Cullen sputtered. 

Ellana snickered from her chair next to the window. Ronan ducked his head and buried his face in his elbow. Only his eyes peeked out, full of mirth. 

“When you made _moony eyes_ ,” his daughter said, drawing out the words slowly as if he hadn't understood them. “You know, when your eyes were big and round like the moons. Because you stared at Mamae all day long.” 

“Yara…” Ellana chided half-heartedly. 

“I most certainly did not make _moony eyes_ at your mother,” Cullen said. “I _admired_ her.” 

“But Mamae said…”

 _“Yara,”_ Ellana scolded in earnest. She set the sock down in her lap and fixed her daughter with a look - _the_ look. 

“Mamae said you used to stare at her with great big moony eyes because you were in _love_ with her,” Yara said, ignoring her mother’s stern expression and spitting the words out in a great rush without breath. She crossed her arms and thrust her chin into the air defiantly. 

“Really?” Cullen said, casting the same stern look back at his wife.

Ellana shrugged. “Well, you _did,”_ she said matter of factly, and resumed her darning. 

Clearly the matter was settled, in Yara’s opinion. She slid out of her chair and pranced around the room, chanting a chorus of _“Moony eyes, moony eyes”_ in a sing-song voice. Ronan went back to playing on the floor beside his mother’s chair, standing tiny tin soldiers shoulder-to-shoulder in strict formation. 

Cullen turned back to his desk. He sipped his tea, now gone cold. Steeling himself, he peeled the wax seal off an envelope that had been delivered that morning. A letter from Varric, _again._ Asking them to come to Kirkwall, _again._ The dwarf was nothing if not persistent. 

The letters seemed to have the desired effect on Ellana, though. She was warming up to the idea of travel. The children were older now, curious about the world outside their home, eager to see the uncle that sent them extravagant gifts and outlandish stories. 

But Cullen was reluctant to revisit that part of his past. Kirkwall’s scars may have faded, the city grown prosperous again under Viscount Tethras. His own scars had not, though. 

When he joined the Inquisition, he sought to leave his memories of the city behind. He was broken then, and the world was broken, too. Ellana pieced Thedas back together, and himself along with it. He was a different man now, a better man. A husband, a father. 

Varric assured him he would be welcomed with open arms. But the past had a nasty habit of creeping up on everyone. Maybe it would be at a market stall, or at one of the parties Varric would insist on throwing in their honor. Someone would see past the thick beard, the greying hair at his temples, the extra lines etched into his forehead. Someone’s eyes would squint, and then they would open wide. Someone would remember him. 

What would his children say then? What questions would Yara ask about ‘the old times’ if she knew what he was, long before he stared at her mother with _moony eyes_?

Cullen looked up, startled by his wife’s fingers gently curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Varric again?” she asked, looking down at the letter in his hands.

Cullen nodded. 

“We don’t have to go,” Ellana said. “You know he’s only asking so he can show off. Or show _us_ off to Kirkwall’s elite.” 

_“Elite_ indeed,” he scoffed. 

Ellana grinned, but Cullen could see a hint of disappointment in her eyes. Traveling to the Marches wasn’t just about his past, it was about hers, too. Varric kept them apprised of her clan’s progress in nearby Wycome. His last few letters had been laying it on thick, boasting of their continued success with the town’s council, which he played no small part in bringing about. 

Maybe it was time. 

Cullen reached back and pressed his hand to hers, twining their fingers together.

He wasn't the same man who left Kirkwall - angry and scarred, unmoored and drifting. He'd long since found a safe harbor, and perhaps now it was time to head out into open waters again.

"In the spring," Cullen said. "After the planting's done. We can be back before the harvest, and hopefully before the worst of a Kirkwall summer." 

Ellana leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Are you going to write to him now?"

Cullen nodded. "He'll be insufferable, you know, thinking he's worn me down."

"I suppose we'll just have to endure it together," she teased. 

"Yes," he said, pulling their hands forward and pressing his lips to the back of hers. "Together. Always."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note - I am writing this with absolutely no care in the world about what Mr. Dread Wolf may be up to. I have decided he's in no hurry, and the Lavellan-Rutherfords will have ample time to raise their happy little family. Fight me, Patrick Weekes.

Cullen broke into a cold sweat when he saw what she was holding. He was sure he’d gotten rid of it long ago.

_ "Where  _ did you get that?" he asked, breathlessly. 

“I found it when I was cleaning out the barn last week,” Ellana replied. “There was a trunk under your workbench, full of odds and ends from your office at Skyhold.” 

Cullen’s heart sank. It was a good, solid trunk, oak planks banded with iron. It had traveled down the Frostbacks and across half the Bannorn, and it seemed a shame to just throw it out. The rest of its contents had long since been sorted. His books were carefully shelved beside his desk. His letters were tied into a neat bundle and tucked away in the nightstand. His fur mantle… well, most days of the year it hung at the back of the wardrobe. But occasionally Dorian would send them a particularly good vintage of Tevinter wine, and his wife would remind him that he was a very lucky man, wearing the mantle and little else… 

It was apparent that, in the daze of the past seven years, he had forgotten to dispose of the most despised item the trunk contained. 

Ellana held the red woolen coat high, pinning it to his shoulders with her fingers. “I think it should still fit,” she said. 

“Maker’s breath…” he sighed, as his wife’s eyes locked sharply onto his own. 

“It’s either this, or you’re at the mercy of Varric’s tailor,” she said, with no small measure of exasperation. “I told you  _ months _ ago to have something made.” 

She  _ had  _ told him. And he  _ had _ avoided it entirely. He didn’t see why he needed to dress up for Varric bloody Tethras. 

Ellana gave the coat a quick, sharp shake, and smoothed out the rumpled blue silk sash. 

“Take off your vest,” she demanded. 

“I  _ really _ don’t see why it’s necessary to-”

“Take. Off. Your. Vest.” Ellana repeated once more, making it clear that she would brook no argument. “Or, so help me, I  _ will _ send you to his tailor, and I  _ will _ tell him you share Varric’s predilection for displaying chest hair.”

“ _ And _ that you look marvelous in purple silk,” she added testily, as she roughly unbuttoned his doeskin vest herself. 

Cullen sealed his lips shut at once. This was not an argument he would win, especially once she had the dwarf on her side. 

Divested of his well-worn-but-tidy attire, he slipped his arms into the odious garment. Cullen suppressed a groan. His mind flooded with memories of fending off fawning debutantes in the Winter Palace, stiff pleasantries with tedious Nevarran diplomats... Not to mention a particularly torturous evening watching the pretender to the Orlesian throne flirt shamelessly with his future-wife.

He couldn’t help but smile a little, knowing he’d bested Grand Duke Gaspard, in the end. Yes, he knew his wife wasn’t a prize to be won, and yes, he’d been married to her for nearly eight years now…  _ but _ , Fereldan pride and all. 

Ellana misinterpreted his expression, and her lips split into a broad smile. “See? You look handsome.” 

She brushed her hands down the front of the coat slowly, grinning up at him. “I never did get to properly kiss you when you were wearing this, you know…”

Well,  _ that  _ was a reaction Cullen hadn’t anticipated. 

“Far be it from me to deny you,” he said. 

Ellana laughed, tongue quickly swiping across her lower lip as she raised up on tiptoe. Cullen cupped her face in his hands, leaning in close enough to smell a hint of cypress soap and tea with clover honey. Her lips hovered just beneath his, slow puffs of warm breath all that separated them… 

“Mamae, where is Bear?” 

Yara stood in the doorway of their bedroom, wearing a green satin party dress and fur-trimmed winter boots. 

Cullen felt his wife deflate, lowering back to the soles of her feet and turning away from him. 

“Have you looked in your trunk?” she said wearily. 

“I can’t put Bear in a  _ trunk. _ You know he’s afraid of the dark,” Yara replied, as if this were the most obvious fact in the world. 

“Have you looked under your bed?” Cullen tried. Just  _ how _ the bear ended up there so often, he had no clue. But rescue missions were usually his responsibility, as he was the only one with arms long enough to reach. 

Yara pursed her lips thoughtfully. “No,” she said simply. 

Ellana opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a word, Yara leapt to another question. “Do people in Kirkwall  _ really _ ride on flying donkeys?” 

“No, Yara, the people there walk on the ground,” Cullen replied, quickly adding, “as do the donkeys.”

His daughter turned in the doorway, resting her hands on her hips ( _ exactly like her mother, _ Cullen noted). “I  _ knew _ there were no flying donkeys,” she shouted as she stomped off down the hall. 

A peal of impish laughter echoed from the direction of the sitting room. Cullen reminded himself to have a talk with Ronan later. While he admired his daughter’s boundless imagination, they all knew that it was accompanied by a hefty dose of credulity. Ronan’s teasing was usually harmless, but a few stern words would ensure it stayed so. Maker knew he did everything he could to get under Mia’s skin at that age… 

Cullen followed his daughter’s retreat down the hallway, redirected her purposeful stride away from her brother and into her own room, then fetched Bear from the far reaches of Beneath the Bed. Mayhem averted, children quietly settled, he slipped back down the hall again, closing the door behind him this time. 

Ellana had flopped down on top of the blankets, clearly exhausted. They were set to leave at first light, and still hadn’t finished packing. But Cullen held out hope that the spark wasn’t entirely extinguished...

“Where were we?” he said, joining her on the bed. 

But as he began to bend toward her, Ellana thrust the hideous red wool up and into his hands. 

“Purple silk,” she said, with an arched brow. 

He sighed. “Yes, _ Inquisitor _ …” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's lovely to see familiar 'faces' in the kudos and comments. :) I hope you're all well and safe in these uncertain times. <3
> 
> The plan (so far) is 6-7 short chapters, and a steamy bit that I will post as a separate fic because I feel awfully respectable again, having posted something that isn't Explicit. XD 
> 
> Also attempting work on an original fic that has been gnawing at me for the better part of a year, and outlining a plot bunny that popped into my head (with Rylen!) So, I hope to have more good things in store in the near future.


End file.
